Revenge
by Blue Raja
Summary: This is a story about Inigo Montoya... What exactly happened twenty years ago?
1. Spoiler Warning

!!!WARNING!!! This story is a *total* spoiler for the end of the movie! if you have never seen the movie and plan to do so in the future, I highly suggest not reading this until you have seen it!!  
  
If you wish to continue, go on to the story. If not, turn back now!! BWAHAHAHA! 


	2. Revenge

Revenge By Blue Raja   
  
Inigo Montoya chased the six fingered man, vengeance pounding in his ears. Revenge! Finally he could put his father's soul at rest.   
  
Count Rugen fled down a flight of stairs and out of view. Inigo quickened his pace, skipping every other step. He reached the bottom of the stairs and found himself in a small banquet hall. Before he could even search the room for Rugen, something whizzed through the air. He felt pain as he was thrown back against the wall. His hands went to his stomach and found the hilt of a small dagger protruding there. "Oh, no, not so close, please!" Inigo pleaded in his mind.   
  
"Sorry, father. I tried... I tried." Inigo shuddered and slid down the wall. Not here! Not so close!   
  
Count Rugen approached him, a huge smile on his face. "You must be that little Spanish brat I taught a lesson to all those years ago." He grinned, faking pity in his voice. "Simply incredible. You've been tracing me your whole life, only to fail now? I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard."   
  
"No you don't." Inigo thought miserably as his vision blurred.   
  
"How marvelous." Rugen studied Inigo with interest. This would deserve a whole chapter in his book, at least.   
  
Inigo shuddered again and slumped against the wall. He saw only black, but he could hear Rugen suppressing laughter. He wasn't dead... yet.   
  
On the black screen that was Inigo's vision, a small picture suddenly flickered to life.   
  
"This must be where my life flashes before my eyes." Inigo thought calmly.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
As a child, Inigo Montoya lived happily with his father, Domingo Montoya, in a small town in Spain. Domingo was a great sword-maker, and he was respected by almost all the people in town. They were impressed at his work as a sword-maker, as well as his skill as a single father.   
  
Inigo's mother, Maria Montoya, was killed in a freak accident when Inigo was only five. At least, that was what Inigo had been told.   
  
What he didn't know was that his mother was murdered. She had been beautiful, and a beautiful woman was always pursued by many men. Of course, only one lucky man could ever be her love, and she chose young Domingo Montoya. All the men she rejected were furious at her, but none so much as Tyrone Rugen.   
  
Tyrone was a bitter, jealous man, and he wouldn't let his rejection slide. So as Domingo and Maria started their lives together, Tyrone sat in his room, plotting and scheming. When Inigo was born, he finally finished his plan. The whole Montoya family was going to pay for Maria's folly. All he had to do was wait.   
  
Maria was extremely happy. She had a wonderful husband and an amazing child. Who could ask for more? Everyone in town loved her and did anything she wanted. She was free to wander the shops and talk to her friends.   
  
One day she went out, young Inigo in tow, to do the laundry in the public fountain with all of her friends. (Talk about airing your laundry in public!) Laundry day was a great time to catch up on the latest gossip and news in town. As she walked down the dirt path that led from the Montoya's country house to town, she let Inigo run into the field of tall grass lining the road. He chased a butterfly and picked a few flowers for his mother. He spotted a tree in the middle of the field. There was a thick vine growing on the tree, and a great beautiful white rose bloomed not far from the ground. What a wonderful surprise for his mother! He happily reached for the rose, his fingers barely brushing it's petals, even though he stood on his tiptoes.   
  
Maria patiently waited for her son to come back from his romp. The laundry basket sat on the ground next to her. She lifted her head and breathed deeply of the fresh country air. She closed her eyes and let herself get carried away by the breeze.   
  
Maybe this is why she didn't see the horse. Maybe this is why she didn't see it's rider. Maybe this is why she didn't see the sun gleam off of the long blade. The horse galloped by, the sword slashed, and Maria fell to the ground, her eyes wide, bleeding from her back. She screamed. The horseman stopped his horse and turned back for another try. He was wearing a mask, so as the horse slowly but reluctantly trotted up to her, she couldn't tell who he was.   
  
Suddenly, the rider urged his mount into a gallop. Maria rolled onto her stomach and tried to crawl away. The frightened horse reared up and came down on her. She gave a choked scream. The horse reared again. And again. And again. After the rider was sure that Maria was absolutely dead, he dismounted and comforted his distressed steed. As he patted the palomino and fed it some oats, he looked across the field, searching for the boy he meant to find with Maria.   
  
Inigo was still next to the tree, now growing furious with the evasive rose that refused to be picked. He jumped up and down, reaching for the flower while dropping the buttercups and wild violets he had picked earlier.   
  
The rider narrowed his eyes, still searching.   
  
"Where is he?" he asked aloud.   
  
From behind him, the rider could hear the sound of a slowly approaching horse cart. Giving up on Inigo, he mounted his horse and galloped off, leaving Maria's body to be discovered by the innocent passer-by that interrupted his crime.   
  
Angelo Del Toro came upon Maria and instantly stopped his cart. He leaped onto the road and ran to her inert body. He checked her pulse and found nothing. Sadly, he looked around for something to cover her with. The basket of laundry was still next to her, but the clothes in the basket were spilled across the road. Angelo chose a sheet and pulled it over her body. He then stood and observed the scene. There were hoof prints everywhere, obviously because it was a road. He noticed Maria's footprints going towards town. To his surprise, there was a smaller pair of prints following hers. A few feet back, they turned and went into the tall grasses of the field.  
  
"Oh no." He muttered. They were obviously the footprints of a child, and by the look of the small clothes scattered across the road, the child was now motherless.   
  
Angelo cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into the field, hoping to draw the child back to the road. "HEYY!!! HELLO OUT THERE!!! COME BACK!!"   
  
Inigo stopped jumping, his face red with anger and disappointment. That darn rose. But enough of that, someone was calling... but it wasn't his mother, so there was no need to hurry back. Inigo picked up a stick and slapped halfheartedly at the rose. To his surprise, the rose finally fell, landing at his feet. With wide eyes, Inigo gently picked up the rose and stared at it. After a moment of being stunned, Inigo ran towards the road, rose in hand.   
  
"Mami! Mami!! Look what I have!" he yelled, wild with joy. He came to the edge of the field and skidded to a halt on the road. He held the rose in triumph. "Look!! Look, Mami!" he whirled to find Angelo standing behind him.   
  
Angelo looked down at him with sorrow in his eyes. "Hello, little one." He said quietly. Inigo looked up at Angelo. "Hello... where's Mami?"   
  
Angelo bit his lip and kneeled in front of the boy. "Can you tell me your name?"   
  
Inigo straightened and said happily, "My name is Inigo Montoya!"   
  
Angelo stood and offered Inigo a hand. "Come with me, Inigo."   
  
Inigo stood, a bit stunned. "Why? Where's Mami?"   
  
"Come with me, Inigo." Angelo repeated sternly. He grabbed Inigo by the hand and led him to his awaiting cart.   
  
Inigo struggled against Angelo's grasp. "No! Where's Mami? Who are you? Where are we going?"   
  
Angelo was silent as he lifted Inigo into the driver's seat of the cart. He had already hidden Maria's body in the back of the cart. Inigo was still holding his rose. Angelo climbed up and sat next to Inigo.   
  
"Does your father work in town?" He asked, trying to seem calm.   
  
"Y...yes..." Inigo replied uncertainly. This was definitely different.   
  
"Okay, then." Angelo urged his horse towards town.   
  
When they arrived in town several minutes later, both Angelo and Inigo were quiet and reflective. Angelo was wondering what to do with the body and the boy, and Inigo was wondering where his mother was and when he could give her the rose. Angelo searched the shop signs as he passed them until he came upon the sign that read, "Domingo Montoya, Sword-maker."   
  
"Is this where your father works?" Angelo asked. Inigo nodded silently.   
  
Angelo hopped out of the cart and lifted Inigo down. Inigo still clutched his rose as Angelo led him into the shop.   
  
Domingo Montoya was a tall man with thick black hair and deep brown eyes. He bore a striking resemblance to the grown-up Inigo. He was sitting next to a stove, melting silver to make a sword for a rich man in town. He looked up when he heard Angelo and Inigo enter.   
  
"Hello, how may I... Inigo?" he stood up quickly when he saw his son standing next to the sad stranger. Inigo looked uncertainly at his father, and then at Angelo. Angelo let go of his hand and he ran and hid behind Domingo.   
  
"Wha... what's going on here?" Domingo asked worriedly.   
  
Angelo wrung his hands. "May I speak to you... outside?" Domingo stepped towards the door. Inigo followed him. "Errr..." Angelo started. "Preferably not with the kid." Domingo looked pointedly at his son.   
  
"Why don't you stay here and watch the shop for me, eh?" Inigo nodded, smiling slightly.  
  
Domingo and Angelo stepped outside.   
  
"I don't know how to say this, Señor Montoya..." Angelo started.   
  
"Say what?" Domingo asked.   
  
"Well... I... I found your son in the fields by the road to the south..."   
  
Domingo's face went white. "FOUND?"   
  
"Well... uh... first I found... his mother? I'm only a traveler, I do not know the people here, but I am assuming that she is his mother. She has long black hair... and..." He paused, trying to break the news gently. He also didn't want to admit that her hair was all that was left intact of Maria. "...And she had a basket of laundry with her."   
  
Domingo stared at Angelo. "Where is she?" he finally asked.   
  
Angelo bit his lip again. "She's... well, I'll show you." He led Domingo to the back of his cart and slowly lifted a corner of the sheet that covered Maria.   
  
Domingo's face went whiter than before as he turned away and tried not to vomit. Angelo dropped the sheet and tried to comfort Domingo. A group of passing women stopped and looked puzzled. They were all holding their laundry baskets with one arm. Eventually they lost interest and kept walking to the public fountain in the middle of town.   
  
Domingo finally swallowed back his sickness and looked at Angelo with bleary eyes. "You found her like that?" He asked, his voice only a harsh whisper. Angelo nodded.   
  
"Did Inigo see?" Domingo inquired. Angelo shook his head. No. "Does he know?" Another shake. No. "Good. Did you see... how?"   
  
Angelo responded vocally this time. "No."   
  
"Oh, God." Domingo squeezed back tears. He had to be brave for Inigo. "Give her to me."  
  
Angelo carefully slid Maria out of the cart and into Domingo's awaiting arms. She was wrapped in a sheet and therefore not as gruesome to look at.   
  
"Watch Inigo for me, please, sir." Domingo beseeched Angelo. "I'll be right back." With that, he slowly carried Maria towards the church.   
  
Angelo slipped into the shop and hung the "Closed" sign in the window. Inigo looked at him with inquiring eyes. "Your father will be back soon, don't worry."   
  
Domingo was back soon. He entered the shop empty-handed.   
  
"Where is Mami?" Inigo asked quietly. He was getting a queasy feeling in his stomach.   
  
Domingo looked purposefully at Angelo. "Thank you for your help."   
  
Angelo took the hint and slipped out of the shop. He stood in front of the door for a moment, thinking about the day's events. A moment later there was a loud wail from inside, followed by loud sobbing.   
  
Inigo knew now.   
  
Tyrone Rugen had gotten away with murder, but not everything had gone as planned. He had been prepared to kill both Maria and Inigo that day and then to murder Domingo that night. As he sat in his room, though, he saw another course of action that he could take. Domingo was a great sword-maker, and Rugen knew that he could surely use a nice sword. He couldn't keep his own for too long, it had innocent blood on it. The problem was, Tyrone just wasn't very strong in the money department. He decided he would save up and buy the most expensive and fantastic sword Domingo could make. Then he would destroy the rest of the Montoyas with it.   
  
Five years later, Tyrone Rugen came back to the little town in Spain after exploring the land and making enough money to buy the sword of his dreams.   
  
Inigo and Domingo had moved into the room behind the shop after Maria died. There they lived, close to their friends and far from the house that reminded them of their dear Maria. Inigo had grown to be a smart and strong boy of ten. Domingo was proud of him.   
  
One fine day in June, Tyrone Rugen came into the shop wearing his best clothes and jingling a bag of gold at his side. Domingo looked up from his work.   
  
"Hello, how may I help you?" Tyrone noted with some satisfaction how old Domingo looked. Obviously Maria's death still tortured him.   
  
"Ah, yes... I am looking for Domingo Montoya."   
  
"That is I." Domingo stood and held out a hand in greeting. Tyrone pretended not to see it. Domingo took his hand back uncertainly. "How may I help you today?" he asked.   
  
"I need a sword." Tyrone said in a patronizing tone of voice. He jingled his bag of gold. "I'm willing to pay for the very best."   
  
Domingo thought about it for a moment. "You are?" Tyrone nodded.   
  
They striked up a deal. Tyrone would give Domingo a year to make the best sword he could possibly make and he would pay him 550 gold pieces for it upon it's completion. The agreement was made and Tyrone left Domingo to work. For a whole year, Domingo worked on the sword, crafting it to the best of his ability, using everything he knew about swords to make it swift and efficient, as well as dishwasher safe. Exactly one year later, it was done. It was a work of art, one of the best swords in all of Europe. Domingo could almost not bear to part with it. Tyrone came for it in the middle of the night.   
  
Domingo presented him with the sword. Tyrone looked it over, stunned at it's beauty. He handed it back to Domingo as he removed some gold from his pouch.   
  
Unfortunately, in the past year, Tyrone had been careless with his money and no longer had the 550 gold pieces he had agreed to pay. He took 55 pieces from his pouch and placed them on the counter. Domingo looked at them in confusion.   
  
"That is not 550 pieces of gold." Domingo stated, pulling the sword closer to himself. He was in no way going to give it up for only that much.   
  
"Let's be reasonable, here," Tyrone pleaded. "I asked for it, no-one else will buy it. Just give it to me."   
  
"No!" Domingo protested loudly.   
  
Tyrone growled. He had been hoping to kill the Montoyas with the sword, but now it appeared that he would have to kill them all with the same sword he had started with. "Give it to me." Tyrone growled again. He unsheathed his sword and held it up to Domingo's chest threateningly.   
  
"NO." Domingo said firmly, clutching the sword tighter in his own hand. He was a sword-maker, not a sword fighter, but he thought Tyrone didn't know about that.   
  
Tyrone did. With one quick thrust, he plunged his sword into Domingo's chest.   
  
Domingo opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes locked on Rugen's, and his eyebrows narrowed at him. He was still holding onto the sword tightly. So tightly, in fact, that his knuckles were white. With his last breath, he managed to squeak one last word.   
  
"Inigo...!" he said, blood starting to dribble out of the corner of his mouth as his lungs filled with blood.   
  
Then he collapsed onto the ground.   
  
Tyrone stood over him, a smile upon his lips. "Oh, how pathetic you are! You could have said something a little more interesting. Oh, never mind that." Tyrone bent and grasped the sword. He tried to pull the sword out of Domingo's kung-fu grip but was unsuccessful.   
  
"GIVE IT TO ME!" he yelled at the dead sword-maker.   
  
Inigo had been sleeping peacefully in his room behind the shop, blissfully unaware of what was going on in the next room. Suddenly he awoke with a start.   
  
Something was seriously wrong.   
  
He looked over at his father's bed and saw that he was not there. Then he heard someone talking in the next room. His father's voice replied. Inigo sneaked out of his bed, wearing one of his father's large shirts as his nightclothes. He pressed his ear up to the wall and listened. He could only just make out the words of an unidentified man and his father.   
  
They seemed to be having an argument. There was silence, then he heard his name and a loud thump as something fell. He stood, his ear still pressed against the wall. The unidentified man started talking again, but to his surprise, Inigo did not hear his father respond. He carefully sneaked to the door leading into the shop and cracked it open. As he peered through the crack, he heard the unidentified man yell "GIVE IT TO ME!"   
  
Inigo cracked the door open a bit more and saw a man bent over his father, who was for some reason lying on the floor. The man was struggling to pry something out of his hand. With a grunt of defeat, the man stood and searched for something. As more of his father came into view, Inigo noticed the blood dribbling down his face and pooling around his body. Domingo was still holding the sword.   
  
"I'll just have to cut it off." The man grumbled, searching Domingo's workbench for something sharp.   
  
"NOOOOO!!!" Inigo screamed, bursting into the room and throwing himself upon his father's body.  
  
The man whirled, startled. His expression of fear and surprise melted into one of hatred and confidence. "Oh, hello there." He said, smiling.   
  
Inigo looked up from his father and glared at the man. "You hurt him!!"   
  
The man laughed. The only light in the shop was from a single candle. The small flickering light made the man look tall and ominous. Needless to say, Inigo was scared.   
  
The man advanced, holding up his bloody sword. Inigo searched for something to defend himself with and spotted the sword his father was holding. He carefully wrapped his hands around the hilt and pulled. Domingo finally released the sword. Inigo stood, looking ridiculous in his father's oversized shirt and his messy hair. The sword was much to big for the eleven year old, and he had to hold it with two hands to even hold it up.   
  
The man laughed. "Oh, come now. Do you really think You can defeat me?"   
  
"I can try." Inigo stammered.   
  
The man tsked. "Give me that before you put someone's eye out." He reached for the sword.  
  
Inigo swiped at the man's outstretched hand.   
  
Rugen pulled his hand back before he could become a normally fingered man. He narrowed his eyes. "You want to fight? Okay, fight then. Go on." He raised his sword at the boy and scoffed as Inigo tried to do the same.   
  
Inigo narrowed his eyes at the man and swung the sword at him. The man easily blocked it and laughed. With a quick swipe, he slashed Inigo on the left side of his face.   
  
Inigo stumbled backwards, crying out. "Hey, ow!"   
  
The man took a giant step forwards. Inigo swung at him again. The man easily blocked him and slashed the other side of his face. Inigo cried out again, dropping the sword and raising his hands to his face.   
  
The man dropped his sword and greedily reached for the sword Inigo had dropped. Inigo kicked it out of his grasp. It skidded across the floor and came to a stop beneath Domingo's workbench.   
  
The man stood, his eyes seeming to glow in the candlelight. "WHY, YOU...!" He reached for Inigo and grabbed him by the throat.   
  
Rugen was furious. How could this little pip-squeak put up more of a fight than both of his parents combined? He was so furious that he decided he would feel best if he killed the squirt with his own bare hands. He grabbed Inigo by the throat and started to squeeze the life out of him.   
  
Inigo panicked. He slapped at the man's choking hands and kicked at him. He missed most of his kicks, and as his vision began to fog over, he knew he was dead.   
  
Rugen smiled hideously. He was staring right in the eyes of death. He had a terrible idea right then; he could write a book about death and pain. It sounded wonderful to him. Suddenly, one of the boy's kicks actually hit. And boy, was it a hit.   
  
The man's face went white and his eyes bulged. He dropped Inigo and squeaked. Inigo fell over and gasped for breath. Every lungful of air was agony and salvation. As his vision cleared, he looked at the man he had just kicked.   
  
The man was obviously in pain. "That wasn't fair!" he squeaked.   
  
Inigo ignored the man and stumbled across the room to the bench. He threw himself onto his stomach and reached under the bench for the sword. His fingers brushed lightly against the cold metal, but when he tried to grab the sword, it slid back even further beneath the bench.   
  
Inigo was frantic. He looked up, his arm still under the bench, and saw the man stand up, renewed anger in his eyes. The candle was now backlighting him, and Inigo could clearly see the silhoutte of the man. His eyes widened with fright a he noticed that the man had six fingers on one hand.   
  
Rugen staggered to his feet and took several deep breaths. That had been a dirty trick, kicking him in the... He spotted the kid and went for his sword. He would finish them once and for all! It would only take one quick slash and it would be over. It would be over too quickly.   
  
Rugen grinned. He'd leave the kid to face his life alone. That would teach him a lesson. And if he ever wanted to, Rugen could come back and finish him. He sheathed his sword and sneered at Inigo.   
  
"I'll be seeing you." He threatened, slipping out of the shop and into the night.   
  
Inigo finally caught the sword and slid it out from under the bench. He turned, sword at the ready, only to see the man slip out of the door, tossing a threat at him from afar. The door snicked shut and all was silent except for the sound of Inigo's ragged breathing. It took him a while to realize that the man was gone. He smiled and dragged himself to his feet. He stumbled over to his father and kneeled by him.   
  
"We beat him, father! He's gone! We won!" Inigo shook his father's inert body. "Father? Father! He's gone! Wake up!" A realization of dread crept over Inigo as he realized that his father wouldn't be waking up. He shook him harder. "No!! Father! He's gone! Wake up! NO!!!" He finally gave up and buried his face in his father's chest, all the time chanting the word "No" over and over again. His heart screamed in ultimate suffering, and if he had given voice to that scream, it would have been ten times louder than the scream Westley would emit twenty years later. Blood from the slashes on his face dripped down his cheeks and onto the already bloody shirt of his father.   
  
He didn't cry, though. He was the last Montoya, and he had to be brave in the memory of his father and mother, so he made it a point to never cry again. The next day, he left the small town he grew up in and started to wander the world in search of the six-fingered Rugen. He carried the sword with him wherever he went. All the money he had was the 55 gold pieces that the six fingered man had left in the shop.   
  
Inigo never saw his little town again.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
Inigo's eyes fluttered open. He was still slumped against the wall. Even though the memory had lasted hours for him, only several seconds had passed. Count Rugen was looking at him curiously. Inigo took hold of the dagger in his stomach and yanked it out of himself. Blood was soaking his shirt. He tried to put pressure on the wound as he leaned on the wall and stood up.   
  
"Good heavens!" Count Rugen exclaimed, somewhat gleefully. "Are you still trying to win?" Inigo stepped away from the wall, only to shudder and fall back on it. "You've got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It's going to get you into trouble someday!" Rugen darted forward, attempting to stab Inigo through the heart. Inigo somehow wasn't surprised when he automatically blocked the shot. Rugen only stabbed him in the arm. It was then that Inigo knew that he could still succeed. Rugen tried to stab him again and only succeeded in stabbing his other arm. The pain brought Inigo back to his senses. He sraightened and took a step away from the wall. He blocked Rugen's sword and took another step. "Hello." He said in a voice barely over a whisper. "My name is Inigo Montoya." He took another step towards Rugen. "You killed my father. Prepare to die." He shuddered again and fell against a table. Rugen tried to take this as a chance to finish him off, but Inigo countered even more ferociously than before. "Hello." He said, slightly louder than before. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."   
  
Rugen's eyes filled with fear. This was not the same eleven year old weakling he ahd faced twenty years ago.   
  
Inigo advanced on the Count. He could feel the strength of his father in himself and knew that he wasn't alone. He was going to get Rugen, even if he died.   
  
"Hello." He yelled. "My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"   
  
Rugen was scared out of his wits. "Stop saying that!!" he screamed, surprised at the fear in his voice.   
  
Inigo screamed it at him defiantly. "HELLO! MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA! YOU KILLED MY FATHER! PREPARE TO DIE!"   
  
Rugen backed away from the rejuvinated Montoya and realized there was nothing to back up into. He was between a wall and a pokey place.   
  
Inigo slashed Rugen's face with a scar similar to his own. "Offer me money." He ordered, slashing a matching scar on Rugen's other cheek. "Offer me power." He ordered.   
  
Rugen's mind worked furiously. "Get him when he's not expecting it!" his mind cried at him. "All that I have and more!" he screamed. "Please.." he pleaded for his life and realized just how much he really like life.   
  
Inigo interrupted his plea. "Offer me anything I want!" he demanded.   
  
"Anything you want." Rugen fairly squeaked. Then he saw his chance. He brought his sword up, ready to plunge it into Inigo's chest. Inigo grabbed his hands in mid-swing and plunged his sword into Rugen, instead of the other way around.   
  
"I want my father back, you son of a bitch!" Inigo cried. With that, he twisted his sword and shoved the count off of it's blade.   
  
The defeated Rugen lived long enough to realize what a fool he had been. "I'm falling..." he thought slowly. Then he hit the floor and was no more. We will never know whether he meant falling in the physical sense or spiritual sense, for there is no doubt that Rugen would be doing a lot of falling where he was going.   
  
Inigo stood, stunned, looking down at Rugen's body. He had done it, it was over. He could die in peace now, and know that he had finally brought honor on his family. His stomach hurt like hell and so did his arms, but now it was done. Inigo staggered out of the room, the strength of his father gone now.   
  
Rugen's dead eyes stared at the ceiling, as if pleading for a mercy that would never come.  
  
THE END  
  
  
  
(any suggestions? I haven't read the book yet, but I can alter things a bit if it's too far-fetched) 


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